


The Commander's New Cloak

by bainsidhe



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: A heist caper, Antics and hijinks are afoot at Skyhold, But also right, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Shameless Smut, That goes wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 09:18:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6278704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bainsidhe/pseuds/bainsidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evelyn Trevelyan is disgusted by Commander Cullen's fur cloak - and even more disgusted by his mixed signals.  She hatches a plot with Dorian, Varric, and Sera to steal the hideous vestment, but then, of course, everything goes wrong.  Or does it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Commander's New Cloak

"It simply has to go," Evelyn declared. Her conspirators, huddled around the dimly lit table, nodded in grim accord.

"It's hideous," Dorian sniffed.

"Definitely not a good look," Varric muttered.

"Smells like a bag of drowned rats," Sera added.

No one decided to ask Sera how she knew what a bag of drowned rats smelled like. "So we're all in agreement?" Evelyn asked, studying each of them in turn. "Cullen's fur mantle is a monstrosity that has defaced Skyhold for far too long. Our valiant commander must be made to see the truth – we need a military leader who looks like a proper soldier, not an exhibit in the Denerim Zoo."

A chorus of murmured concurrences floated around the table, and Evelyn wondered how it had come to this. If she were being honest and charitable, she might be inclined to admit that this crusade had less to do with Cullen's poor sartorial choices and more to do with the commander's infuriating inability to make up his mind about the nature of their relationship. She and Cullen had been dancing around each other for months now, and every time she thought he'd finally let down his guard enough to let her in, his shield had snapped back up and he'd dismissed her, politely but firmly, always taking care to address her as a colleague rather than as a friend. That in itself wouldn't have bothered her so much, if not for all the times when he _had_ come close to letting her in – that time they'd played chess, and she'd gently teased him, and he graced her with the barest of smiles, the scar on his lip quirking up as his honey-brown eyes met hers –

"Oi! Earth to Your Worshipful!" Sera's snapping fingers tore Evelyn out of her pleasant reverie. "We should work out how to do this, yeah? Maybe it can just go missing? I might be able to nick it, you know, as long as it's not draped around his shoulders."

"I could distract him with a game of chess," Dorian offered. "Meanwhile, Varric and Sera could break into his office and steal it from his wardrobe. I assume you want the offending garment delivered to you?"

"You don't need _two_ people to pick a lock on a door," Varric groused. "I think I should make myself useful and loiter in the great hall, just in case you dispatch our commander a bit too handily. I'll intercept him and make sure Sera has enough time to finish the job."

"So in other words, you're going to stand around with your thumb up your arse while the rest of us do the real work," Sera groused, popping a candied date into her mouth.

"Hey. I happen to be very adept at standing around with my thumb up my ass, thank you very much. How do you think I manage to pick up so much juicy gossip? No one ever pays attention to the dwarf in the corner…"

"Fine," Evelyn said. "I'm going with Sera. The rest of you, make sure Cullen doesn't come near his office for a good long while."

"We've got you covered, don't worry," Varric assured her. "But I have to ask: what exactly are you going to do with it?"

In truth, Evelyn hadn't really thought that far ahead. The entire plot was something of a sudden affair. She had been sharing a bottle of wine with Dorian a few nights before, and her ire had been piqued by yet another frustratingly vague encounter with Cullen. The commander had started out friendly, warm, flirtatious, even; and just when Evelyn had begun to get her hopes up that _something_ between them had finally changed, Cullen had closed up at once, clearing his throat with an uncomfortable cough and informing "the Inquisitor" that unfortunately, he had a pile of reports which simply _must_ be attended to at once. Crestfallen, she'd sought out Dorian's company, and over a bottle of wine, she'd finally felt at liberty to unburden herself of all her irritation towards the stalwart former templar. Of course, she hadn't told Dorian the _real_ reason she was upset, but when she'd thrown out an offhanded comment about Cullen's ghastly cloak, Dorian had seized onto it like a mabari.

"I couldn't agree more!" he'd gushed. "It's appalling. He looks like one of your southern mountain barbarians, covered in the furs of his most recent kill."

"Yes!" Evelyn's shouted agreement was accompanied with an enthusiastic slam of her wine goblet on the table, sending a spray of Tevinter red into the air. She dimly recalled that they were well into their second bottle. "He looks like a… like a… bloody lion druffalo. A druffalion?" She frowned. "Or a liffalo? No, I think I like druffalion better."

If Dorian had any thoughts regarding druffalions versus liffalos, he did not share them. Instead, he leaned in close, his eyes twinkling with a mischievous light.

"So, only one question remains, Inquisitor," he'd whispered darkly. "What do you mean to do about it?"

That was how they'd ended up here, at a corner table in the Herald's Rest, conspiring to divest Cullen of his cloak. Dorian had enlisted the aid of Varric and Sera, and Evelyn, delighted that her friends recognized how _ridiculous_ the commander was, had agreed. But now that their mission was ready to move, she found that she really had no idea what she hoped to accomplish, or what she planned to do with the cloak once she had it.

No matter. She hadn't become the Inquisitor by standing around mewling in indecision. She would cross this particular bridge when she came to it.

"I'll figure that out later," she said breezily in response to Varric's question. "Are we ready?"

"On your command, Your Worship," Dorian said, his mustaches quirking up in a wry smile.

* * *

 

Evelyn stood nervously outside the door to Cullen's office, casting worried glances back at the main keep while Sera busied herself with the tumblers on the lock. She knew Dorian would keep Cullen occupied for some time, and in the event that the commander tired of chess, Varric waited, ready to draw him into some long-winded digression or other as only Varric could do. At last, the lock clicked, and Sera pushed the door open silently.

"Easy as you please, Your Gloriousness," the elf smirked. Looking back over her shoulder one last time for good measure, Evelyn scurried into Cullen's office, shutting the door behind her and heaving a sigh of relief.

"Bet there's all sorts of good stuff in here to nick," Sera said appreciatively, looking at Cullen's bookshelf. "Might have to make another trip here one of these days."

"Sera," Evelyn warned. "Just the cloak."

"Right-o," Sera chirped. "About that, yeah? You can find it on your own? I mean, big ugly matted blanket of fur, can't be hard to miss? Anyway, forgot I had somewhere to be. Don't worry, door locks fine on the way out. It's just getting in that you need a deft hand." The elf winked lewdly at Evelyn, who gaped at her in alarm. This wasn't part of the plan!

"Wait, Sera!" she hissed. But the elf was already through the door, leaving Evelyn alone in Cullen's office.

"Shit!" This wasn't how it was supposed to go! Now what? In all honesty, she hadn't really thought any of this through at all. It had started as a drunken rant that had turned into a humorous diversion, but now, as she stood alone in the dark in Cullen's office, she began to wonder what exactly she'd hoped would happen as a result of this little caper. She'd steal Cullen's cloak, and then… what? He'd demand it back? She'd tell him how it made him look like a mangy hybrid creature, and he'd immediately agree to the wisdom of her assessment? Then, dazzled by her cutting fashion critique, he'd throw the offending garment to the floor and sweep her into his arms and –

 _Ugh, you fool. You got drunk and let your roguish friends talk you into a stupid prank. Just get out and forget this ever happened, and forget about Commander Cullen, too. He's not interested; he's made that more than clear. Leave the poor man and his ugly cloak alone._ Thus decided, Evelyn headed for the door, prepared to make her sheepish exit from the office, when the pounding rhythm of bootsteps on flagstone reached her ears.

"Oh shit oh shit oh shit!" she panicked as the bootsteps grew closer. It couldn't be Cullen – he'd barely been playing chess with Dorian for twenty minutes! It had to be a guard – or someone worse. What if it was an assassin or a spy? Evelyn quickly scurried under Cullen's desk, seeking cover and wishing she had a weapon with her. What if it was –

The bootsteps stopped just outside the door, and, holding her breath, Evelyn prayed for the intruder to go away. Instead, she heard a jangling sound, then a rattle as a key was inserted into the lock. The door eased open with a creak, and, as a heavily-booted foot took a hesitant step into the office, she heard the unmistakable metallic screech of a sword being pulled from its sheath.

"Why wasn't the door locked?" A familiar voice muttered _sotto voce_ , and Evelyn shrank herself into a smaller ball as footsteps began to slowly echo throughout the room.

"Intruder – show yourself!" An angry, very familiar voice called out, and Evelyn wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or terrified.

"I can have the guards down here in half a minute – surrender now, and this might end peacefully for you," the voice growled, and the thought of all of Skyhold finding out about what had happened finally spurred Evelyn into action.

"No! Don't, Cullen! It's just me!" She popped up from beneath the desk, hands held in the air. Cullen stood there, sword drawn, his face creased in anger, dimly illuminated by the moonlight that streamed in through the patchwork of his roof.

"Evel – Inquisitor?" His scowl immediately vanished, replaced by a baffled frown as he sheathed his weapon. "What in blazes are you doing in here?" His frown deepened, brow furrowing in suspicion. "How did you get in? The door was locked."

"I…" It had not escaped her notice that, once again, he'd almost called her by her given name, and once again, had reverted to formality. She supposed this was a rather unique circumstance, but nevertheless found her irritation mounting.

"I came in here to steal that bloody awful fur cloak of yours," she said defiantly.

"I – _what_?" He stared at her in astonishment. "You came here to _steal my cloak_? Of all the… you must be joking!" His incredulous expression was quickly replaced by one of affront. "What's wrong with my cloak?"

"Seriously?" She was distracted from her embarrassment temporarily by his inexplicable defense of the fur monstrosity. "It makes you look like an Avvar wild man, and not in a good way! It's matted and mangy!"

"It is not!" Cullen retorted hotly. "I take very good care of my armor, thank you very much!" He frowned thunderously at her. "Evelyn, really, this is beyond childish. You snuck into my office to steal my _cloak_ because you think it's ugly?"

"I…" When he put it like that, it _did_ sound childish. "It was just a prank, really," she admitted. "I was going to take the cloak and get you a new set of armor. Something more flattering." Maker, she sounded worse than Sera. She tried to salvage some small amount of dignity from the shambles. "Something that more befitted your station as the commander of the Inquisition's forces."

Cullen stared at her incredulously. "Eve – Inquisitor, if you wanted to get me a new set of armor, why not just ask me? Why all this?"

She noticed again that he'd almost called her by her name, and her blood went hot. "Because every time I try to talk to you, you shut me down!" she said angrily. "I don't understand what's going on, Cullen. Sometimes we talk, and it's wonderful – you'll tell me about your family, about your past, we'll play a lovely game of chess, and I almost feel like you're ready to open up to me, but then your armor goes back up, and you hold me at arm's length again and call me 'Inquisitor' as if nothing happened."

Well, she certainly hadn't meant for all _that_ to come out. She noticed Cullen's expression had changed, his irritation replaced by a puzzled concern.

"Inquis – Evelyn." He frowned. "I didn't realize – " He sighed heavily, running a weary hand over his face. "Evelyn, you're the Inquisitor. I'm your commander. We can't just –"

"Why?" Evelyn demanded, striding out from behind the desk to confront him. "Why can't we?"

"Because – because we can't! Because people will talk! Because you're the Herald of Andraste and I'm an ex-templar dealing with lyrium withdrawal!" he sputtered. "Evelyn, if you think for any reason that this is about you, I can assure you that it is not. You are – " He paused, his face flushing deep in the dim moonlight. "You are a remarkable woman. The Maker has truly blessed us by delivering the right person at the right time to lead the Inquisition. Your responsibilities, your obligations… you have enough to worry about without adding me to the list."

"Cullen, you blinkered fool," she snarled, moving closer to him. "Don't you understand? I already worry about you! I already care about you! And every time you pushed me away, I thought – " She took a shuddering breath and committed herself to the plunge. "I thought it meant you didn't care for me at all, that I'd just imagined everything between us. But then you'd look at me a certain way, and I just… damn it!" She swore. "I just wanted to do something that would make you notice me as more than just the Inquisitor."

Cullen quirked his mouth in a wry, crooked smile, the scar on his lip tugging upwards as he smirked at Evelyn. "So you… thought you'd break into my office, steal my cloak, and insult me? That's an interesting way to declare your affections, Your Worship."

The bloody man was _teasing_ her now, but Evelyn couldn't find it in herself to be angry, as the excitement of the promise of her words washed over her. "Well, nothing else was working, you thick-headed man."

The sound of his laughter washed over her like a wave of warm light, and before she had a chance to join in his mirth, he had closed the distance between them, and then his body was pressing firm and taut against hers, and she discovered what it was like to be passionately kissed by Cullen Rutherford.

After several breathless, heart-pounding minutes, he pulled back, his clothes rumpled and eyes burning. A stupid grin found its way to Evelyn's face and would not leave, but she hardly cared.

"Maker, Cullen, that was incredible," she breathed. "I'm so glad I decided to steal your cloak."

With a growl he descended on her again, pushing her up against his desk and lifting her up onto the edge, his mouth trailing down her jaw and neck, discovering more of her with each plundering kiss. She instinctively wrapped her arms and legs around his firm, muscular body and gasped in anticipation as he pressed closer in to her, his rigid length poking through his pants into her belly as he melded himself to her.

"Bugger the cloak," he rumbled, his hands swiftly finding the clasps of her tunic and tearing it away. "I don't want to hear another bloody word about that damn cloak for the rest of the night." She cried out as his mouth descended to her breast to take a pert nipple in his mouth through her underclothes, and she threaded her hands through his golden curls, holding his head against her chest as he sucked and nipped at her breasts.

"Well, it's still ugly," she gasped out, her words trailed by a ragged moan of pleasure. With a feral snarl, Cullen shoved her up onto his desk, sweeping away the pile of reports with an impatient arm.

"I told you, not another bloody word." He quelled any further speech with a savage kiss, his tongue invading her mouth and exploring its farthest reaches, and she felt, rather than saw, him tugging his own shirt off over his head. He descended to her again, and the heat of their bare skin in contact set her blood on fire. With frantic hands of her own, she reached down to his trousers and unfastened the clasp, taking his smooth length in her hand and groaning against his mouth. Cullen reached down between them and tugged his trousers down, then set to the laces of hers. A cool rush of evening air rushed across her skin as he tugged her pants out of the way, but she had no more time to think of it as he entered her in a smooth motion, the thrill of feeling his cock inside her at last sending a thrill of euphoria racing through her blood. Gripping him with her legs, she urged him inside her, riding the rhythm of his thrusting hips, her breathing ragged and gasping in his ear as she clutched to his broad, muscular back with eager hands. He moved in her with determined purpose, his own breath hoarse and rasping, punctuated only by heated, ardent kisses pressed to her body as his passion overwhelmed him. Their climaxes came over them in successive waves of fire and thunder, Evelyn grasping at his shoulders with a keening cry as her walls shuddered around his cock and pleasure spiked through her body, and Cullen crying out with a strangled shout as he stiffened and emptied himself into her moments after.

They lay there, gasping and panting, sweat-slick and sated, for several moments, neither saying a word, and it only then occurred to Evelyn that she had, indeed, forgotten all about Cullen's cloak.

* * *

 

"So you're sure you saw him go in?"

Varric leaned over his tankard of ale, eyes intently on Sera. The elf took a swig of her own bottle before setting it down and rolling her eyes theatrically at the dwarf.

"Yeah, not blind, am I? Hard to miss a big yellow-haired fella walking in a door."

"And he didn't see you?" Dorian asked, taking a sip of his glass of wine. Sera made a disgusted noise and shot a dirty look at the Tevinter.

"Don't be daft! Course he didn't see me. If I don't want to be seen, then I'm _not_ , yeah?"

"Excellent!" Dorian chirped. "I think he might have been a little suspicious when I suddenly recalled a very pressing engagement that regrettably meant I'd have to reschedule our chess match."

"I was afraid I was going to have to intercept him and steer him back towards his office," Varric said. "It looked for a while like he was going to take a stroll out to the training yard, but he must have decided he had some catching up to do."

Sera snickered. "Yeah, bet he's all caught up now. On Her Worship's knickers."

"And thank the Maker for it," Dorian said. "I've never seen two people so obviously infatuated with each other who each refused to make a move. When she came crying to me about his ridiculous _cloak_ , of all absurdities, I knew I had to do something." He grinned and poured himself another glass of wine. "And I certainly couldn't have done it without your help. Well, I'm sure I could have, but it would have taken a bit more time and intricate maneuvering. So!" He raised his glass. "To our dear Inquisitor Evelyn Trevelyan, and her stalwart commander, Cullen Rutherford. May their happiness be lasting and their sexual release frequent and fulfilling."

"Hear, hear," Varric said, lifting his tankard.

"That's my kind of toast, innit?" Sera said.

They took a celebratory drink and basked in the pleasant satisfaction of a job well done, and that night, all was well in Skyhold.


End file.
